Buffy sat in the diner waiting, arms crossed under her breasts. Soldierly type people, especially the covert ones, weren’t her favorite. Oh, she and Riley had made their peace and she even liked most of the people in his unit. But she’d never been asked to sit down to lunch with his boss, either. Especially during one of the rare weeks when everyone was home.
“Buffy Summers,” an African-American man in a leather coat and an eyepatch said as he slid into the booth across from her and she assumed this was Nick Fury. “I’ve heard you’re a good man in a storm.”
She lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re not wrong.”
He placed a folder on the table and folded his hands on top of it. “What if I told you that I think there’s a storm coming?”
“I’d say I’m already standing ankle deep in my own puddle,” she said.
He pursed his lips and asked, “So I shouldn’t offer you an umbrella?”
“Have my own,” she said, trying to stress the point.
He muttered something that sounded like, “…always right,” before he said loud enough for her to hear, “An interested party thought you might like to try a little interagency cooperation, then.”
He slid a business card across the table and she picked it up. She almost dropped it when she saw the President’s name. She knew Fury could have faked one, would probably go to any lengths to get the cooperation he desired, but she didn’t think he was the type of man to invoke the name of the Head Chief if he wasn’t serious.
She fiddled with the card for a moment before coming to a decision. “Leave the file and I’ll think about it.”
He slid out of the booth, leaving the file on the table, and he was gone. Giles wasn’t really gonna be happy. He’d wanted to put a definitive end to that avenue of infiltration. She’d just have to make him understand that cooperation didn’t necessarily mean involvement. They were still under their own umbrella.